


Stress

by Webhoard



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Steve, Birthdays, F/M, First Kiss, Modern AU, Steve is definitely not an old man, Veteran Steve, reader and steve are so stupid and that's why they're perfect for each other, stress obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 02:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15133607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Webhoard/pseuds/Webhoard
Summary: Modern AU. You had the perfect gift for Steve’s 30th birthday, too bad it hit almost every stair on its fast descent. So while you spend the evening hiding and moping, Steve lets you know that it’s the thought that counts…in the best possible way.





	Stress

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Stress_ for [Steve Roger’s 100th Birthday Celebration](http://redgillan.tumblr.com/post/173679393257/steve-rogers-100th-birthday) hosted by the wonderful @redgillan!
> 
> Ok, so I set this on Steve’s 30th birthday because even though that’s obviously not as big of a milestone as 100, I also couldn’t have an AU with him turning 100…so…And ughgh, I feel like the reader has NO personality but OH WELL

There was no way this was happening. It had to be a nightmare or something, like one those stress dreams you used to get back in college, the ones where your teeth would shatter and fall out, and you’d wake up with a start, feverishly running your tongue over your still intact enamel. 

You scrunched your eyes shut, took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Peeking open your eyes, you looked down at the garishly wrapped gift at the bottom of the stairs where it had fallen, bouncing off of almost every step.

Shit.

Ten minutes later, you found yourself sitting in a subway car, staring dejectedly at the box wrapped in Halloween themed paper, giving it another gentle shake and grimacing at the rattling sounds of the expensive and now broken oil pastels within.

You had meant this to be a thoughtful gift, the kind that came from the heart. After an offhand remark Steve had made at Sam’s Halloween party last year about wishing he still made art not on a computer screen for his finicky advertising clients, you had gone out that weekend and bought the set, despite the price tag. 

The receipt had to be long gone, no doubt carelessly gathered up and thrown out with the wads of gum wrappers that perpetually littered the bottom of your purse. Regardless, you’d still be giving Steve, the man you’d secretly been in love with since freshman orientation so many years ago, a broken art set for his birthday. 

And it wasn’t every day that the love of your life turned thirty. It wasn’t every day that his over-the-top friend, Tony, held a surprise birthday party at his swanky penthouse. It’s not like this was supposed to be special or anything. 

This was the worst. So, you leaned back in your seat, let the anxiety and self-loathing wash over you, and leaned into it.

* * *

“SURPRISE!” Everyone shouted as the lights in the previously pitch black room exploded to life and as Steve leapt about three feet in the air, tackling Natasha to the ground, his body shielding her from the perceived threat.

“I told you we shouldn’t have a surprise party for a fucking veteran!” You heard Clint call over the sparse laughter. 

He did have a point, but that didn’t seem to stop Sam and Bucky, who’d both been in his unit during their tour, from laughing at him the loudest, so you supposed it was going to be okay.

Steve quickly recovered, his cheeks burning pink under the now dimming lights, as he pulled Natasha off the ground apologetically. You had to bite your lip to keep yourself in check whenever his cheeks did that.

“Really funny, guys,” he grumbled, clearly trying to sound irritated, but the corners of his mouth were tugging upward, betraying his actual lack of anger. “Thank you all, really. It’s a pleasant surprise actually. Sure beats the night of clubbing Nat promised me.”

Natasha smirked as she made her way over to Clint. Everyone knew Steve wasn’t overly fond of loud, dark clubs, making it the perfect cover for the setup and allowing Natasha to see him squirm all evening.

Tony swaggered over, handing Steve a pour of whiskey, saying, “You didn’t think we’d actually drag you around bar hopping on your birthday, did you?”

Steve just shrugged his shoulder sheepishly. 

* * *

You might have enjoyed the conversations, and the laughter, and the levity of spending a night among friends and Steve were it not for the persistent knot in your stomach. 

While your friends around you were laughing and talking, you mutely nodded your head and avoided questions. When Tony brought out the ridiculously elaborate birthday cake, you had to fake your ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ to blend in with everyone else. 

As Steve opened his presents, you hovered near the edge of the kitchen, moping around far from the madding crowd, praying that he wouldn’t see your present, which you’d hidden under the table, or ask you where yours was. And as the party eventually moved out to Tony’s spacious terrace to enjoy the warm evening before the fireworks started, you found that you just could not get excited for them.

All you could focus on was how you and your butterfingers had sabotaged your one effort at showing Steve how much you cared for him when clearly you would never be able to do as much in words.

Your sour mood and anxiety had been cemented earlier in the evening when everyone had been setting up for the party and talking about what they’d gotten for Steve. 

Natasha had snuck into his apartment, using skills and tools she would not openly discuss, and stole a tattoo idea he’d sketched out weeks ago and would be giving it to him on the house at her parlor later in the week. Somehow Clint managed to ride her coattails but, just to be safe, had also gotten him a bag of fancy coffee beans. 

Sam had reserved him a spot in a three-week cooking class so that he could learn to make more than oatmeal and scrambled eggs. Tony was the one throwing the whole party, which you knew was not cheap and was gift enough. Wanda and Vision had bought him a new punching bag since he’d broken the last one in a spray of sand.

And from Bucky: “Well, I got my arm blown off saving his reckless ass, didn’t I? Also, I got him a bottle of some weird Norwegian honey liqueur.”

And you? You had a box of broken, overpriced pastels. 

The others had told you not to worry about it, that it was the thought that counted. But their reassurances did nothing to alleviate your anxiety. 

“You know, they say that people who peel bottle labels are sexually frustrated,” Steve’s voice tore you from your anxious ruminations. You looked up from your seat in the corner of the terrace to see his amused smile and then back down at the pile of shredded paper from the cider label that littered your lap. “Just don’t ask me who ‘they’ are. I have no idea.”

“Hah hah,” you stated in monotone. “I guess I’m just fidgety is all.”

“What’s got you stressing?” He asked, plopping down right next to you on the whicker couch.

“Nothing.”

“Oh come on, Y/N,” Steve sighed, rolling his eyes teasingly at you. “You’ve looked miserable all night.”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to lie or even stutter out a non-answer, so you focused on wadding up the paper shreds and discarding them on the small table in front of you, shrugging your shoulders lamely. 

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would it?” 

You looked back over at him, expectant smile on his face and your present in his hands.

“Ugh,” you groaned out, burying your face in your hands. “You found it then.”

“Well,” he drew the syllable out, and you could practically hear him smirking. “I asked Nat if you were okay, and she told me you were moping about your present but wouldn’t say what. And then she told me it was under the table.”

“Ugghh,” grumbled even more loudly this time. “I should have just left it at home.”

Steve laughed softly, “Can’t be that bad.” He hesitated, taking a deep breath before continuing, “But I won’t open it if it’s stressing you out so bad.”

“No, I— I want you to have the present,” you began, avoiding Steve’s gaze, focusing instead on slope of his nose.

“Is it because of the Halloween paper?” He laughed out, clearly trying to break the tension.

It worked and you couldn’t help but crack a reluctant smile, “No. I thought it was funny, and I stand by that.”

Steve smiled one of his heart stuttering smiles, and you almost had to resist the urge to check your pulse to make sure your heart was still beating. 

He looked into your eyes, “So what is it then? Did you buy me a bunch of old-man diapers since I’m _so_ old now or something?”

You rolled your eyes playfully at him before your smile faltered and was replaced by an embarrassed grimace, “I dropped it on the way out of my apartment.” You took a breath, “Down a full flight of stairs.”

Steve’s nose scrunched and his brows pinched as he smiled sympathetically, not quite able to hide his amusement. “It’s not that big of a deal. You can just get it exchanged for a new un-dropped version whenever. C’mon, let me open it. The suspense is killing me.”

“I really can’t,” you started, and Steve’s brows twitched in anticipation. “I kind of,” you trailed off sheepishly. “I bought them last year, and I know the receipt is long gone by now, and even if I had it, it’d be expired anyway.”

“I never knew you were so proactive about gift shopping,” Steve teased, a strange glint in his eyes, prompting another deflective eye-roll from you.

“Go on. Open it, really,” you tried to sound genuine. “Just know that this wasn’t quite what I had intended, but happy birthday and all that.”

Steve searched your eyes a moment longer before turning back to the box in his hands. Very gingerly, he picked at the edge of the wrapping and tore away the witches and black cats, revealing the label for the Sennelier pastel set.

Steve’s face softened into an expression you couldn’t quite read as his eyes drifted to yours.

You couldn’t look at his face any longer, fearful that he’d see the raw emotion in your eyes, “You made a crack at Sam’s Halloween party about wishing you still made real art on paper like you did in college, so I went and got them while it was still fresh in my mind. Hence, the wrapping paper. It was on clearance for 75% off, and I just thought it would be funny.”

There was a decided crease in his brows when you looked up at him again.

He took a measured breath before speaking. “Y/N,” his voice cracked slightly, “I don’t know what to say.”

You yourself didn’t know how to respond to that, so opted to deflect a little instead, “You could start by sounding it out?”

He looked like he was trying to smile. “This is one of the best birthday presents I’ve ever gotten.”

Your mouth gaped slightly. You had expected that Steve would lie badly about how it was no big deal, he could work with broken pastels, or some such platitude. You had not been prepared for this.

“Steve, they’re broken,” you insisted, unable to keep the slight whine out of your voice.

“No, I mean it. I barely remember that night, what with all the shots Nat had me doing, but you did. And then you bought me this really thoughtful gift.”

You felt almost dizzy when he looked into your eyes with what you could only discern as a heartfelt expression. And when he reached out and wrapped you in a hug muttering his thanks, you could have sworn his arms held you just a bit too tightly, lingered just a touch to long. And when he pulled back, his cheeks and ears just a shade pinker than could be caused by the drinks.

And you found yourselves lost in a Moment. You and he had shared several of these moments throughout the years of your friendship, where you both seemed to stand on the edge of something, anxiously waiting for the other to take the first leap.

But something about this moment was different. Maybe it was the way he was angled toward you in his seat, maybe it was how his right hand was still on your shoulder and his fingers fiddled with your sleeve. 

So when he almost unconsciously leaned toward you, you couldn’t help but mirror him, your breath having long left your body. Long eyelashes dusting the top of his cheeks were all you saw before your eyes fluttered shut and you felt the timid press of his lips against yours. 

Your anxiety and stress about the pastels seemed like a distant memory as his hand left your sleeve and his thumb gently caressed the side of your neck, one kiss leading to two then three then more, and you became enveloped by everything that was Steve.

Your hand was buried in the short hairs at the back of his head, fingers curling instinctively. As you sharply inhaled through your nose, your senses were flooded with the oaky smell of the whiskey lingering on his breath, the subtle scent of his cologne, and something that was uniquely and intimately Steve.

You wanted to deepen the kiss, taste him, feel him, but before you could slot your knees with his, before you could run your hands down his chest as you’d longed to do so many time before, you were interrupted by a loud explosion overhead as fireworks began blossoming in a dizzying array of colors and lights.

“Perfect timing,” you laughed softly, motioning up to the sky as another firework crackled and sputtered into thousands of sparks.

Steve looked a little dazed as he smiled back at you, “Really? Because I’ve been wanting to do that for years.”

You gave him a pained grin, “We’re both idiots, aren’t we?”

Still looking dumbstruck, he shrugged his shoulders, “At least we didn’t wait till I turned a hundred or something.”

You smiled and shook your head as you leaned in for another embrace, lost in the flickering lights reflected in his eyes.

“Hey, will you two cut it out?” Bucky called over the cracks and booms, “We get it, you’re finally getting together, but come on. We’re trying to watch fireworks here.”

You and Steve looked up from the private realm you had both been lost in to find your friends laughing and stealing glances your way as they watched the sky.

“Ugh, how bad are we gonna get it after the fireworks?” You asked with an exaggerated grimace, leaning into Steve’s now open arms.

Steve gave you a whining chuckle for a response as he wrapped his arms around you as though he had done it a hundred times before. You leaned back and looked up, your head resting on his shoulder, and watched the colors explode across the sky.

Steve nuzzled his face against the side of your neck, and whispered, “For what it’s worth, about the pastels, I mean. When I used to use them regularly, I would break them up. The smaller pieces are easier to work with.”

You groaned, “So I was freaking out for nothing?”

“Pretty much, but at least it led us to this,” he said, gently tightening his hold around you. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to disagree as you let yourself get lost in the moment that you hoped would last for years to come.

**Author's Note:**

> This is like the shortest Marvel fic I’ve written, and while I could have waxed poetic about Steve’s lips for like another thousand words, I’m actually ok with how this turned out.


End file.
